The Hunt for the Wolf
by Kawakami-Aya
Summary: In order to stop the string of killings decimating her soldiers by an elusive Gallian Sniper known as "The Wolf", Selvaria rolls the dice and sends the best Sharpshooter in The Empire to hunt her down. Can Marina outwit this legendary Sniper?
1. Prologue

The Hunt for the Wolf

Prologue

By Aya-Chan a.k.a. Yukionna42

When winter came to the Kloden Wildwood, and the ground was blanketed in white, the Gallian White Wolves came down from the North. When they did, the hunters and trappers who called the heavily forested Southern tip of Gallia their home would be forced to defend their livelihoods against the large and powerful canines. It was a war that repeated itself every December to February, the White Wolves and the few human inhabitants of Kloden.

The man, dressed in thick brown boots, warm elk furs, and a tweed cap, crouched low behind a snowbank alongside his daughter. In the young girl's hands was a bolt-action GSR Rifle. She was only five years old, but the sooner she learned to shoot, the better.

Even in her warm furs, she was shivering in this bitter cold. Looking at her father, she saw that he didn't seem to be cold at all, despite the fact that a layer of frost had settled onto his black walrus mustache.

"Keep your eyes on your surroundings." Victor Wulfstan commanded. "They could come from anywhere." A bit startled by the sudden break in the silence, the girl peeled her eyes away from the man and looked straight ahead at what was beyond the snowbank, where a horse was idly standing about 200 meters away, hitched to a wooden stake sticking in the ground, making no movement aside from occasionally flicking it's tail or wiggling it's ears. This gray nag had seen better days. It was old, about 45 years in age, and it had recently come down with a disease that had ate away at it's health so badly that the outline of the creature's ribs stuck out along it's sides. The man wouldn't have used one of his healthier horses for his daughter's training. Although he had many fond memories and loved this nag very much, he was putting it in danger. However, he had faith in his daughter, believing she had the potential to save it's life.

"There's one!" Victor Wulfstan pointed out. The young girl shut one eye and looked through the scope of the rifle. She didn't see it at first, it was crouched motionless, exactly the same color as the snow, but then it turned it's head and she saw the White Wolf's yellow eyes, black nose and pointed ears.

"Get ready." Victor ordered. The girl took aim. If she could shoot and kill the wolf before it reached the horse, she would have completed her training. The wolf eyed the horse, crouched low on all fours, slowly slinking forward, then it stood up and bolted forward with impressive speed.

"Here he comes." the man spoke. The girl's hands were shaking uncontrollably. She was prepared to kill the wolf. What she wasn't prepared for, was the possibility of failure. The wolf came within fifty paces of the horse.

"Now, fire." her father commanded. The girl hesitated. What if she missed? What if she failed to kill the wolf? What kind of hunter would she be then? What if she failed her father? Disappointed him? Her hands still shaking, she rested her finger on the trigger of the rifle.

"Fire!" her father repeated. She was scared. Scared of failure. Scared of being second-rate. Scared of letting her father down. Of letting her family down. Twenty paces from the horse, now.

"Fire, Marina!" Victor shouted. She didn't want to be a failure. She didn't want to be second-rate. She didn't want to be forever remembered as the weak daughter of a strong father. Twelve paces from the horse. The girl squeezed the trigger, heard the banging report of the weapon, and felt the kickback against her shoulder.


	2. Chapter 1

The Hunt for the Wolf

Chapter 1

By Aya-chan a.k.a. Yukionna42

At the beginning of the Second Europan War, the East Europan Imperial Alliance, better known as "The Empire." had cut further into Gallian territory than any invading army ever had. Lately however, the Empire had begun to suffer from a short series of rather humiliating defeats. One at the Vasel River, the other at a Supply Base in Kloden which had fallen to Gallian hands. Now, Selvaria Bles's Central Imperial Army, one of the few Imperial Armies that had never suffered a defeat against Gallian Forces, was patrolling the central desert of Barious in a loose formation.

Private Nikki Holman out of the trench into a gray dawn over the desert, where the stars in the sky were still brightly illuminated. She never saw the starts as bright as this in the city back home in the Empire. The landscape was an eternally spanning yellow sea of dunes, occasionally broken with islands of red cliffs and old ruins dating before the first Europan War, possibly even before Gallia was a nation. Wind and sand put a chalky taste in almost every breath.

Nikki reached for her canteen. She never touched it during the night. Thirst helped keep her awake on watch. Opening the canteen and pressing it to her open list, she did not swallow the first dram of water but rather washed the dust from her mouth.

"Let me have some of that." Private Paige had walked up, still wearing his gray steel helmet with his large anti-tank weapon, a big heavy rocket launcher resembling a lance, rested on his shoulder. Nikki handed him the canteen.

Fifty meters away, Major Heska emerged from the officers tent in his crimson helmet and body armor. He casually rubbed his shoulder while he approached the two soldiers. Nikki and Paige stiffened up and saluted, but the Major waved them off. "Too early for that." He yawned. "Yes, sir." Nikki replied.

"Anything to report, private?" "No, sir." "Well, the Gallians never leave anything quiet for long. Let's see what we've got." Nikki handed Major Heska her binoculars, who put them to his eyes and slowly poked his head out of the trench, surveying the sand, cliffs, and occasional ruins of the Barious Desert.

"Nothing." He said, handing the binoculars back to Nikki. "That's good. Maybe the Gallians took the night off."

Paige held the canteen up to the Major. "Sir, have a drink on that." Heska turned broadside, took the canteen from Paige and brought it to his lips, tilting his head back for a long draught.

Suddenly, the Major spasmed and threw the canteen into Paige's face. Water erupted from his open mouth, muffling a gurgled cry. The canteen dropped from his rising hands, he tumbled.

The crack of a single, distant rifle blew past the trench. It circled over the desert like a buzzard, then faded into silence.

The Major collapsed into Paige's legs. The shocked private kicked the officer off of him and scrambled to the opposite wall, back pressed against the dirt. Nikki snapped to her senses. She threw herself against the wall next to Paige, crouching low. She placed her hand against the officer's back. There was no breath.

She looked at the officer's helmet, still strapped under his chin. A red-rimmed hole had been blown into the side of the crimson helmet. Blood leaked under the helmet down his wet hair and ears, pooling on the Gallian dirt. The Major's left leg shivered once, quivering in the puddle spilling from where he had dropped the canteen.

"Fucking snipers." Paige mumbled. "We're a kilometer behind the front line. How can they get us here?" Nikki recovered her canteen, still staying low and looking down on the Major. She had seen tides of death in the past few months. To the Imperial Soldiers, death was a part of the Gallian Landscape. It was written into the rolling meadows, deep forests, and shifting sands. She now bore hundreds of memories of death on her back like ugly scars.

Nikki put a hand under Paige's arm. "Go get help moving the body. Stay low." Paige scrambled to his feet and without looking back, he bent low and scrambled up the trench. In the Imperial Army, moving bodies was a punishment usually given to soldiers who were sleeping, drinking, or gambling when they were supposed to be on watch.

Nikki moved away from Heska's body and sat. Waiting for Paige to return, she composed letters in her mind, one for her father, one for her sister, one for herself. In the letter to her father back home in the city, she told the old man not to worry. She told him the war in the West was nearing an end and that the Gallian Resistance was buckling. To her older sister, a Nurse at Ghirlandaio, she wrote the truth, for she was certain she was seeing the full horrors of this campaign in her beds and wards. In the letter to herself, the nineteen year-old scout in the Central Imperial Invasion force, crouched in a trench in the Barious Desert only meters from a corpse, she could neither lie convincingly nor tell the truth completely.

Corporal Marina Wulfstan quickly pulled back the bolt of her rifle. The smoking bullet casing made no noise when it landed on the ground beside her. At her elbow, Cezary Regard looked through his telescopic scope. The first shot had been Marina's. If another Imperial Soldier, or "Imp" appeared, Cezary would take the shot.

Marina counted slowly under her breath to sixty. In one minute, whether Cezary spotted a target or not, they would pull out. Fighting large scale battles was different from sniper duals. Here, the rules were simple: pull the trigger, then pull out. Never stay in one spot for too long, or else that spot will become your grave.

Marina knew the bullet had hit. The first thing she had seen was a canteen bobbing across the trench. She had almost fired then. At 550 meters it was difficult to tell a canteen from a man's head, even with a telescopic sight. She had increased the pressure on her trigger and waited. Then, what was unmistakably the helmeted head of an Imperial Officer came into view. Another stupid, dead Imp.

Cezary kept his rifle aimed at the area near where Marina had killed the officer. Occasionally a bullet blowing out a man's head was enough to make his comrade next to him grab his rifle or binoculars and search vengefully for the Gallian Sniper who had snuffed out the life of his officer or his friend from somewhere in the ruins some half a kilometer away. The survivors sometimes vomited out one last brave and loyal act before being killed themselves. Cezary and Marina hunted bravery as well as stupidity.

A minute passed. Marina nudged Cezary's elbow. "Time to go." She said.

Cezary lowered his rifle. He and Marina crept backward from the pile of Asbestos bricks they had hidden behind since before dawn, only fifty meters from the Imperial Front Line. In a shallow depression, the two retrieved their backpacks and stuffed their rifles inside. This close to the front line, the rifles jiggling on their backs could bring the two snipers to unwanted attention. These probes into Imperial Positions were dangerous, and called upon all of Marina's skills as a hunter. But it was those same skills that allowed her and her fellow snipers of Squad 7 to pull off feats like this in the first place.

It took them five minutes to slither thirty meters across an open expanse of sand, then into the cover of an ancient ruined building. Once there, they waited for another hour, in case an Imperial Sniper had seen them enter. The wait would try their enemy's patience, make him wonder if he had missed them, as well as probe his physical ability to stay focused through his crosshairs for sixty long, empty minutes.

Marina reached into her backpack and pulled out her old, worn sniper journal. In it's pages she recorded the morning's kill, then handed the notebook to Cezary.

"Sign this, Regard."

Cezary read the record of the kill, _"6/14/35, Barious Desert, NE Quadrant, Imp. Camp, Field Officer, 550 meters, head shot."_

After signing "_Spotter PFC Cezary Regard." _below it, Cezary did a quick scrawl, sketching a pair of pointed ears, an elongated, snarling canine snout bearing it's sharp teeth, and a pair of slitted, angry eyes. Under that, he wrote "_Kill made by The Wolf." _

He then closed the notebook and handed it back to Marina.

Private First Class Cezary Regard was a tall, lanky young man of twenty-three. His messy silver locks of hair were constantly getting in his blue eyes. Always looking out for number 1, that is to say, himself, he had specifically trained to be a sniper so he'd be far removed from the front lines, so he thought at least. He was born and raised in the Deserts of Barious, and knew the area quite well. Marina Wulfstan was a twenty-four year old hunter-turned-sharpshooter who hailed from the woods of Kloden. She was shorter, but also more athletically built and very quick on her feet. Her short jet black hair, with her long bangs covering her left eye, fine girly features and beautiful lavender eyes had earned her a lot of love letters from all over the Militia. After burning every single one before reading them, she had received no more. Much unlike the other three snipers in their squad, neither Cezary nor Marina were much of a team player. This meant the two of them rarely got along. Today would be an exception.

"You're a lot more patient than I am, Wulfstan." he told her. "Why?" Marina asked. Cezary chuckled.

"I would have shot the fucking canteen."


	3. Chapter 2

The Hunt For The Wolf

Chapter 2

By Aya-Chan a.k.a. Yukionna42

"She did it! She did it!" the soldier cheered, running back with the paper target in hand. Colonel Rudolph Thorvald, Instructor and Headmaster at the Imperial Sharpshooting Academy had to face the music. One of his subordinates, not only a subordinate officer but a subordinate instructor, had won a bet.

His students clapped, fifteen of them, who had gathered to see if Lieutenant Aileen Kessler could pull off a seemingly impossible feat. Thorvald pressed ten marks into the young Lieutenant's hand and saluted. Kessler accepted the money and returned the salute. She turned to the panting private who had just ran a thousand meters with the target in hand, and patted him on the shoulder. Taking the target from him, she held it up for the students to see, showing off the hole in the target's very center.

"This is how I got them in Bruhl." She announced. "About fifteen or so." To the astounded "Oohs" and "Aahs" of the crowd. Aileen stuck her finger through the hole in the target's center, wiggling it for the crowd to see. "See this?" She asked. "This is a worm sticking out of a Gallian's head." This was met with the laughter of the students.

"Remember everyone." Kessler concluded. "You can all make a shot like that if you work hard enough."

Hitting a target dead-center from a kilometer away actually didn't have much military value. In actual combat, you couldn't make out a target clearly enough at that distance to tell if it was worth shooting. The reason Kessler accepted the Colonel's challenge wasn't to show off, but to inspire the recruits. Kessler was well-liked by the students of the Sharpshooting Academy. In contrast to Thorvald's trash-talking and put-downs, Kessler was much friendlier. She wanted to inspire her students, leading by example. She believed that hard work paid off, and you didn't have to insult a student's mother and question his sexuality in order to make him the best shot in the army, you just had to show him a goal and have him reach for it. She wanted her students to show intellect in their marksmanship, to reason out their shots, replacing the body-the enemy of the sharpshooter with it's distractions and throbbing motions, with the still, sharp focus of the mind. Her desire was for all her students to behave like gentlemen and shoot like Imperials. Her teaching style certainly did pay off, every sniper who had ever trained under wanted to be Aileen Kessler, thinking "If she can do it, why not me?"

Kessler was only twenty-two years of age, and anyone who saw her would at first glance think she looked nothing like a soldier. She was too young, too cute, and too tidy. She wore her long light brown hair in a neat ponytail, and kept her bangs parted to the side and out of her eyes with three pink hairpins. She had big blue eyes and a winning smile with even white teeth. She never wore the Imperial Army's metal helmet and body armor, choosing instead to go into battle in a black dress uniform, which was always spotless. Sometimes, while teaching at the academy, she would forgo the usual dark brown service boots in favor of shiny black high heeled shoes. Today however, she did opt to wear the service boots, and they were equally spotless. Such a cute little lady looked like she had never even SEEN the front lines, much less served on them. However, any soldier who had met Kessler and knew her well would tell you she was the best damn sniper in the whole Imperial Army.

After winning the bet, Kessler sat under an old larch tree, her unloaded ZM SG Rifle with it's 6x Telescopic sight laid across her lap, while her students gleefully gathered around her eagerly anticipating what, to her, was part of their training; her war tories. This time, she decided to tell them about an experience she had fighting at Ghirlandaio.

Before it became Prince-General Maximilian's command center of operations for the Invasion of Gallia, the Citadel Ghirlandaio was the most heavily fortified structure on the Eastern Gallian Front, which guarded the border between Gallia and the Empire. Kessler was then only a mere sergeant, having not even earned her stripes as an officer yet. She was in the Central Imperial Army under the Command of Selvaria Bles, who was without a doubt one of the most capable commanders in Prince Maximilian's invasion force. In the first forty-eight hours of the invasion, Kessler had found herself with very little to do. The Imperial's greater mechanized arm; tanks, armored cars, and artillery, were what was winning the war. Within a few days they had penetrated the front walls of the Citadel, and were gradually reducing the Gallian Army, commanded by General Damon, to splintered fragments of a fighting force. Finally, by the fifth day, Kessler finally had her assignment, she was to probe the inner defenses of the Citadel, picking off high priority targets, snipers, officers, artillerymen, machine gunners. In a few weeks after her eight-man sniper team had started their raids during lulls in the fighting, Kessler had seventy-three confirmed kills, more than her entire team combined. While her fellow snipers sat at camp bragging of their exploits, Kessler read a book, preferring either the ancient epic of the Valkyrian Lars Malsteem, Poetry by the esteemed writer Donna Schuman, or women's fashion in the popular "Gallian Girl" magazine. Every saturday, their squad's commanding officer would come by and hand out tin tokens to the sharpshooters for every confirmed kill. Each tin token could be exchanged for five marks, the Imperial Currency. Though Kessler acquired more tokens than any of her fellow snipers, she gave all of hers away.

By the eighth day, General Damon's army had fallen into disarray. Isolated units fought hard to keep the Imperial invaders at bay. One morning, her unit encircled a large Gallian force. It was nothing out of the ordinary, she held back and picked off targets while the armor did the heavy work, but something extraordinary happened in this engagement. She looked out of her cover to the sound of blaring trumpets and trampling hooves. Kessler stared in disbelief as a brigade of General Damon's personal guard, in richly dressed bright blue uniforms mounted on the finest bred horses she had ever seen, came charging out from the battlements onto the battle-scarred plains, swords held high, trying to rally their battered comrades. Aileen rubbed her eyes and stared with her mouth gaping open at what was happening, she couldn't believe it. Finally snapping out of it in a few seconds, she picked a target, a black-bearded rider at the head of the column of horsemen and fired. The rider fell. Before she could even pick a second target, however, she heard the booming of Tanks behind her, and the riders were bathed in smoke and fire. When it all cleared and the dust settled, General Damon's personal guard, who had made such a superb display of bravery, were reduced to a tangled mess of dismembered men and horses. General Damon himself was not among them.

"And what do you think the moral of the story is?" Lieutenant Kessler asked her students. They were too eager for her to continue to speak during her stories, even to answer a question.

_"They are ready." _Kessler thought to herself, looking at the confidence on their faces and in their movements, the juice of youth in their veins. _"They're tugging at the reins to go off into battle and make names for themselves. But I wonder, _ _what makes a man or woman so eager to kill others? How can they be so anxious to risk their lives to go and do it?"_

"The moral, my fine students, is quite simple. Don't try and be a hero, on horseback or otherwise. Be smart, stay behind cover, and you'll stay alive."


	4. Chapter 3

The Hunt for the Wolf Chapter 3

By Aya-chan a.k.a. Yukionna42

It took the two snipers another hour of walking across the dunes of Barious to reach the camp of the Gallian Militia. The two most famed Militia Squads in Gallia were camped here, Squad One and Squad Seven. Both Marina and Cezary were part of a five-man team of sharpshooters attached to Squad Seven, which in the opinion of many Gallians, including Cezary's, was the tougher, harder fighting unit of the two. It was Squad Seven which, under the leadership of their brilliant but estranged commander, Lieutenant Welkin Gunther, had simply humiliated the Imperial Invaders in three separate engagements.

The first engagement was at the city of Vasel, where the newly assembled squad quickly rode in to relieve the beleaguered Regular Army troops defending the city. After some very up-close-and-personal fighting in close quarters combat in which Marina had seen her life flash before her eyes numerous times, the Sevens drove the Imperial Force back across the river.

The second engagement also took place at Vasel, and was one of General Damon's own suicide missions for which the men and women of the militia were so "enthusiastic" to obey his orders. That time, Squad Seven was ordered to go on the offensive, retaking the large suspension bridge over the Vasel River. The Empire had used it as a choke point, heavily fortifying the bridgehead with Tank Destroyers and heavy machine gun nests. On the eve of this crazed mission, Squad Seven's collective moral reached an all-time low, to the point where the squad members had begun to take it out on each other. Rosie picked on Isara because she was a Darcsen. Isara picked on Rosie because she didn't like being picked on. Largo picked on Welkin for having no experience. Edy picked on Rosie just for the sake of picking on Rosie, and Theold picked on just about anyone who got in his way. This included a very timid and nervous Susie Evans who ran back to her bunk in tears.

Then Lieutenant Welkin, aiming to resolve the disputes in his squad, made a bet with his squad, that if he managed to retake the bridge in the next 48 hours, they'd all stop fighting, shut up, and follow his orders without complaint. The entire squad thought his sanity was gone.

Regardless, Welkin had his chief engineer, Isara, outfit his tank with a hydraulic resistance allowing it to submerge for a few brief minutes. Swimming the tank across the river with his squad following behind by boat, they cleared the shores of the river of patrols and, after more heavy fighting, fought their way to the Imperial held bridgehead, and raised it's gears, dropping the soldiers and tanks defending the opposite side into the river. Captain Eleanor Varrot called it one of the finest military operations she had ever seen, and their Lieutenant had gotten his inspiration, much to Marina's distaste, from observing a damn patch of seaweed.

Of course, even after then, the arguments didn't cease. Although Largo had caved in and stopped giving Welkin any lip, Rosie still picked on Isara, Isara and Edy still picked on Rosie, and Theold still picked on anyone who got in his way.

Finally, the third victory that the "Dandy Sevens" as they had begun to be called, won against the Imperial Army came in Marina's own backyard, so to speak. In the Kloden Wildwood, the Sevens were to take a base which was the supply center for Imperial Operations in the entire region. Once again, Lieutenant Welkin went on one of his bizarre moments of inspiration, observing an animal trail, then making the decision to divide his forces. While Welkin and company would blast their way in through the front door, another team led by the Sergeant Alicia Melchiott, which included Marina, another Kloden native named Hannes Salinger, and Nadine, a Darcsen Engineer, followed the animal trail and wound around the side in a well-coordinated pincer attack.

Marina had been invaluable here. Although she made very few kills, she had a knack for spotting animal trails and navigating through the dense Kloden Woodland, all skills she had gained from her days as a hunter. Her sharp eyes and attention to detail is what got her unit to the base just as Welkin's half of the squad was breaking through with sheer force. The timing couldn't have been more perfect.

These strings of victories inspired reporter Irene Ellet to coin the term "Lucky Sevens" on GBS Radio, and the Imperial Army now knew them as the "Devil Pigs." This was owing to the squad's mascot, a Porcavian Piglet.

As of this week, Squad Seven and Squad One were assigned to a recon in the Barious Desert. They weren't exactly told why, there was nothing but small villages and ruins in Barious, but both squads suspected that the real reason was that General Damon wanted them out of his hair while the Regular Army snatched all the glorious assignments.

The mood only worsened after a Squad Seven Scout, Private First Class Freesia York, observed elements of Selvaria Bles's Central Imperial Army in the area. So now they were forced to go toe-to-toe with perhaps the most legendary general in the Imperial Invasion Force.

In an open area like the Barious Desert, it wouldn't be a fair fight for the two Militia Squads. In such a wide-open space, what mattered most was how much firepower you had in a highly mobile set-up. In other words, it would become a tank war. Selvaria had already demonstrated how superbly she could wage mechanized warfare when her army had stormed Ghirlandaio. In terms of armor, the Imperial Gold Standard, the "Fatherland" Medium Tank, could outperform almost any Gallian Design in terms of defense and firepower.

Squad Seven did possess a tank that was faster, better protected, and had more firepower than the "Fatherland." But it was practically a unique design. Even if it could beat the Medium Tanks in almost every way, the other tanks in Selvaria's army, which numbered somewhere between 200 or 400, could easily encircle and destroy the one tank that actually posed a threat to them.

So for the past few days, Welkin, and his close friend and fellow Squad Leader Lieutenant Faldio Landzaat of Squad One, had been keeping up a game of ambush warfare. Keeping the tanks back at camp, they had ordered their soldiers to stick to the cliffs and ruins, avoid the open dunes, and pick off Imps as they came by. No one was better at that kind of warfare than the snipers.

Every sniper of both Squad One and Squad Seven knew they couldn't bring down Selvaria's entire army by themselves. What they could do is take out high-priority targets such as officers, machine gunners, artillerymen, other snipers. Kills like those would greatly weaken their enemy's fighting potential if they kept it up. What the Snipers could do to weaken the opposing army even more is get into their heads, show them that they could get them anywhere at any time. Make them feel like there was always a set of crosshairs pointing between their eyes. If they did that, they would have a psychological edge in combat, which could last until Selvaria's Army pulled out or until they were assigned to another location, hopefully one of more strategic importance.

As Marina and Cezary came to the combined camp of Squads One and Seven, which to reach, they had to wind around the side of a cliff face. After a while, they came into view of an ancient ruined yellow adobe house sitting on top of the cliff, it's roof long and doors long gone, with a single frameless rectangular hole where a window once was facing in their direction.

Cezary raised one hand in greeting, looking up at the window. He couldn't see anyone with his naked eye, but he knew that fellow sniper Catherine O'Hara was looking down at them through her binoculars from there. He knew she would recognize their blue Gallian militia uniforms, make out their faces, and although she knew they couldn't see her, she would raise her hand as well, returning the greeting.

Passing under the house, Marina was now able to make out the familiar frame of the Edelweiss. When the Imperials had heard that the best tank in Gallian Service was a relic from the First Europan War, they had laughed. When they heard it was of Darcsen design, they had laughed harder. All that laughter was silenced when the "Fatherlands" encountered the Edelweiss in combat. In their very first battle against the Edelweiss, the Imperial Attitude had gone from disregarding it as an "Old Darcsen Clunker" to "Thank the Valkyrur there's only one of them."

Marina could see someone with a small, slender frame working on the turret of the tank. She had her back to them, but her blueish-black hair and wool shawl thrown over her shoulders instantly allowed her to recognize who it was.

Isara Gunther paused from the ratcheting of her wrench to look over her shoulder. The girl's face was slightly blackened from her work. "Oh. Welcome back." She cheerfully greeted. Marina responded with a slight nod. Cezary on the other hand, didn't look her in the eye.

Quite a few of the squad members were up now. Vyse, Alex, Aika, Hector, and Rosina were sitting in a circle on some empty overturned fuel barrels. The five of them all had an amazing chemistry on the battlefield. They were eating some breakfast roles that were more likely than not baked by sergeant Alicia Melchiott. Jann Walker was carrying a small rectangular plastic box wrapped in a pink handkerchief towards Largo's tent. Brigitte "Rosie" Stark, the redheaded bar-singer turned soldier and Squad Seven's Shocktrooper Leader, was concentrating deeply in a game of cards against Faldio. And Juno Coren, a bespectacled corporal who reportedly had a crush on Lieutenant Welkin, was entranced in the pages of a book.

Nadine, another Darcsen, emerged from the steel makeshift garage, carrying a large toolbox in hand. The sight of someone as small as her easily carrying such a large item looked almost comical in an odd way. Unlike Isara, Nadine didn't usually wear a shawl over her blue militia uniform, but she had been singled out every bit as much as Isara by the squad's Darcsen haters.

Theold Bohr came walking casually in Nadine's direction. The blond, broad-shouldered Lancer apparently had just gotten up, as he seemed groggy and was stretching his neck and shoulders. As it seemed he wasn't going to pay any mind to where Nadine was standing, she attempted to step aside. However, she still caught the edge of the big man's elbow, causing her to stumble back and knocking the toolbox out of her hands. It's contents spilled on the ground.

Nadine shouted at Theold to look where he was going, but Theold didn't seem to notice, much less care. Everyone's attention was on the two of them now. Isara ran over to Nadine to help her gather the items that had spilled out of the toolbox. Hector had shouted "At least apologize, jerk!" Vyse made a complaint about bigots and bullies. Rosina simply said if Nadine worked out and gained a little more muscle, Theold wouldn't be able to pick on her. Juno and Faldio each looked up from what they were doing, though in Faldio's case, he was met with a reminder from Rosie to "keep playing." This was something Rosie only said when she had a good hand.

"You know, Theold's an asshole." Cezary began. "But I suppose he's not a bad judge of character. Wouldn't you say so, Marina?"

_"Idiot." _Marina thought to herself. _"The culture and heritage of others doesn't interest me. I have my life, they have theirs. Who cares if someone's a Darcsen or not, so long as they don't shove a gun in your face?"_ She felt a slight urge to say this out loud, but decided that Cezary's comment was better met with silence.

As Isara and Nadine gathered all of the scattered items, Nadine announced that she couldn't find a small, thin, octagonal washer. She and Isara moved their hands across the sand trying to locate it. Something so small would be lost very easily. It was at that moment, that Marina noticed a glint of silver lying on the ground.

When Nadine looked up, the washer was being held in front of her, in the palm of the black-haired, lavender-eyed sniper, who didn't say very much and usually avoided socializing with others. The young Engineer of Squad Seven took the washer from Marina's hand and stared at it for a moment. "Oh..." She meekly said. "Thank y-"

Before she could finish that sentence, Marina had turned away. She didn't want to get involved with others, not even to hear words of gratitude. She didn't need to hear them.

Seeing how Darcsen bonded so easily only reinforced her theories about people. To Darcsen themselves, it was bond that went beyond one of friendship or romance, but Marina didn't see anything different about it. It was as if life for humans was a quest to find something in common with another person and then click. To Marina, humans were simple. This was but one of many reasons why she shunned human contact.

"Corporal Wulfstan." Someone had called Marina's name. Turning around, she saw the black haired, spectacled commander of her squad's regiment, Captain Eleanor Varrot, dressed in her blue dress uniform with her hair tied back in a bun.

"I've been hearing things about you, Corporal." The Captain told her. "Good things. If you're available, I'd like to have a word with you about what you've been doing."


	5. Chapter 4

The Hunt for the Wolf Chapter 4

by Aya-chan a.k.a. Yukionna42

Marina stepped onto the dirt floor of Captain Eleanor Varrot's command tent and sat down across from the Commander of her Regiment at a large wooden table. The bespectacled Captain always kept her hair tied back, showing her pale forehead. Behind Varrot, two uniformed women worked field radios, plugging and unplugging wires at a furious rate and speaking in low tones. All around the tent were bookshelves, stacked full with more books than Marina could count. The books were of very diverse subjects, ranging from classic children's literature like "The Tale of Klaus and his Mandolin" to "The Europan Modern Economic Thesis, vol. 12."

"You wished to see me, Captain?"

"Yes, Marina. You were in the town watch of a small village in Kloden before you joined the Militia. Is that correct?"

"Yes Ma'am." Marina thought, recalling her days in the Town watch of the small village of Ansberg, located deep in the heart of Kloden.

"I see you still carry your animal skinning knife." Captain Varrot commented. Marina looked at the brown leather sheath hanging from the sniper's belt. Sheathed inside it was a six-inch blade with a trailing point, or slightly curved tip, and a dark brown Kloden Walnut handle. Marina unsheathed the knife, examined it's blade and looked at her reflection in the glimmering steel. She thought briefly of the man this knife used to belong to.

"That's right." She acknowledged, sheathing the knife once more. "I am a hunter."

"I see." The Captain replied. "What do you hunt in Kloden?"

"Wolves." Marina answered. "Gallian White Wolves."

"Ah. I understand that you killed your first wolf when you were five?"

Marina nodded. She thought of that cold winter day with her father, when she had shot the wolf through the neck. How saw it's life pool out of it's jugular on the ground in the form of a giant lake of crimson. She remembered how the animal was still clinging to life when she and her father had walked across the span of two-hundred meters to where it lay. She remembered how her father took the rifle from her hands and put a bullet in the pitiful creature's temple, putting it out of it's misery, and how he had patted her on the shoulder. She remembered how she could only stand there, trembling.

"Who taught you how to shoot?" the Captain asked.

"My father." Marina replied. She fondly remembered the tall, powerfully built, broad-shouldered man that was Victor Wulfstan. How he always wore his tweed cap, his bushy black walrus mustache, his big hearty laugh, and how he always had faith in his little girl.

Eleanor Varrot nodded. "Tell me about your introduction as a sniper."

Marina had seen her first Militia Snipers during a skirmish around Ansberg only a month before. Two lithe, uniformed soldiers, a man and a woman, crawling in the direction of the bullets while the town watch dug in for cover. Marina admired their courage, how well they seemed to work on their own.

"Do you like working on your own?" Captain Varrot asked.

"I'm accustomed to it." Marina replied. "It's how I hunt."

"After you joined the Militia as a Sniper, what kind of training did you get?"

Marina said nothing. Captain Varrot picked up a pen knife and tapped it on the table. A gesture that silently said _"Answer me, Coporal Wulfstan."_

"In Sniper Training, just the basics. Experience has been a better teacher than drills and shooting ranges."

"I see. May I see your sniper journal?"

Marina reached into her bag, withdrew the old, worn, red-leather bound book, and handed it to her superior officer. The Captain flipped through the pages. Without looking up, she said "Tell me about this entry, in Vasel. What is the "body-baiting" tactic?" Varrot had been a sniper herself during the first Europan war, but she didn't seem to be familiar with this term.

Marina discussed the entry in her journal. In the first stage of the Vasel campaign, she had been out hunting with her fellow squad seven sniper, Catherine O'Hara. While Welkin's force was cleaning up the city on one side of the river, Marina and Catherine brought up the rear, protecting the force from other snipers, never straying too far from cover. While spotting from a window of a ruined, bombed-out building, Marina and Catherine noticed an Imperial Scout trying to work his way around the main force's flank, possibly with a larger force following behind him. Marina, being a corporal and the highest ranking sniper in Squad Seven at the time, instructed Catherine to take the shot using a tactic she had personally taught her. Catherine waited, then fired at the Imp's chest.

Varrot looked puzzled. "Why a chest shot?"

Marina went on with her explanation. Although Gallian Snipers were trained to aim for the head, Imperial Soldiers wouldn't bother trying to rescue one of their own who had a bullet in his brain. There would be no point in saving a dead man. A shot to the heart would still kill a man outright, but there might be some doubt as to his death amongst his close friends. If a soldier was either heroic enough or stupid enough, they would try to rush to their friend's side and check if he was still alive. Then they would call for a medic. A minute of inactivity had passed after the scout went down with Catherine's bullet in his heart, then an Imperial shocktrooper appeared, sprinting at full speed, who had knelt beside the fallen scout upon reaching him.

Varrot nodded. "You." she said.

Marina's bullet had pierced the Imp's cheek.

"Where did you learn this tactic?" Varrot asked.

"It's a fairly common ploy for hunters in Kloden. Wolves and other animals in the Wildwood mate for life. You bait one animal with the body of another."

"I see. I'm afraid we're out of wolves where I grew up." Varrot went back to the pages in the book, flipping through until she stopped on another entry. "And this one at 700 meters...ah, the shooting tube trick, I remember this ploy. Tell me about this instance."

Again, Marina explained to her Captain. After the first day's combat at Vasel, Marina had heard stories of an Imp sniper who had been picking off Regular Army troops from the other side of the river. Sniper versus sniper was always the most dangerous kind of hunt, so she had to be especially careful. She had concealed herself in the tall grass on the riverside, then mounted a compact mirror onto her skinning knife and raised it above the grass. It had no magnification, but it allowed her to observe the surrounding area without exposing herself to fire. Using the mirror, she observed an anti-tank artillery position by the riverside, as well as what looked like a pile of spent shells. Putting the mirror away and using her scope to get a clearer sight of the shell pile. While looking through her scope, she counted twenty-three artillery shells total. She noticed that one of the shells at the base of the pile had had it's bottom removed.

"And you realized it would make the perfect shooting tube." The Captain commented. "It could be buried in a trench-mound or hidden amongst other shells. It would make a sniper almost invisible."

Eleanor Varrot clearly knew what she was talking about. All Marina knew about the Captain's record was that she served with distinction in the First Europan War, but she didn't know anything else. Could she have been a sniper herself?

Marina nodded. When she saw the shooting tube, she knew where the sniper was. But at the angle from where she was looking, she couldn't get a shot. But she happened to have a Gallian Regular Army-Issued helmet with her. This time, she mounted the helmet on the knife and raised it above the grass. There was a crack, and the Helmet was violently thrown off the knife with a new hole punched through it. Marina raised her rifle and zeroed in on the bottomless mortar shell with her scope. After sixty seconds had passed, she still couldn't get a shot. Since staying in one place for too long was extremely dangerous, especially against enemy snipers, she had crawled away, staying low in the tall grass.

"But you came back for him later that day." Varrot speculated.

Indeed, Marina continued, she did come back for the hunt. Now that she had established the enemy's MO, she had a clearer idea of the proper course of action. She approached from a different spot this time, and examined the shell pile from her scope. This time, she counted only twenty-two shells. The bottomless shell was no longer there.

"Your attention to detail is a very useful skill." Varrot added. "In fact, noticing little details like that is probably the most important skill for a sniper to have. Are you sure you only went through basic training, Corporal?"

"It's the same in hunting as it is in counter-sniping." Marina explained. "Those are all the clues we get. The smallest shift in a rock formation or a new hole in a wall is often the only clue we have as to the whereabouts of an enemy sniper, just like tracks in the snow or animal scat on the forest floor."

Marina continued. Using her Rifle Scope, Marina spotted a bronze-colored glint near a mound where excess soil had been piled up by Imperial trench-diggers. Sure enough, it was the bottomless mortar shell. This time the camouflage had been sloppy, the brass artillery case was only partially buried, the tip of it's edges gleaming in the sunlight.

Marina crawled to a new position, one where the sun was over her shoulder and directly in the eyes of the Imp Sniper. Again, she raised the regular army helmet onto her knife, and again there was a crack, and the helmet flew off. Marina zeroed in on the buried shooting tube, and this time, she saw a gauntleted hand reaching out to pick up the fallen rifle cartridge. He'd been clever, not leaving behind a sign that he'd been there, just like he'd been told in training. When he straightened, Marina caught an unmistakable glimpse of the sniper's head. She split the Imp's brow with her crosshairs. The 7.92 mm bullet, Marina's lone offering in this one-on-one battle, struck between the eyes. She saw the rifle, ownerless now, lying in the bright brass shell.

"Between the eyes?" Varrot seemed doubtful.

"Yes, ma'am." Marina replied. It had been her shot, her kill. One bullet, one Imp. That was Marina's creed, her special talent. She did not doubt. Marina raised her finger, and pointed at the space between her own eyebrows. "Right here."

Eleanor Varrot went back to the sniper journal, flipping through them, until she came upon the last entry. "Now this one here..." She paused, then chuckled. Holding up the book for Marina to see, she pointed a quick sketch of a face of a snarling wolf. Underneath the fierce canine face were the words "Kill Made By The Wolf" in Cezary's handwriting.

"You didn't draw this, did you?" the Captain asked.

"It was Private Regard, I asked him to sign my Sniper Journal for this morning's kill. To be honest I'm not sure where the nickname came from, but it seems like that's what they've decided to call me."

Marina didn't care for such overblown titles. She figured she had a name for a reason, and she thought all that a nickname was going to do was lead the Imps to hunt for her.

"Ah. Well, tell me about the officer behind the front lines."

"Imp Officers change shifts at dawn." Marina explained. "The ones coming on duty are groggy. They're careless, they make mistakes. Instead of staying close to cover, they expose themselves and do something stupid like stretch, or light up a cigarette."

"I see. What did this one do?"

"He took a drink from a canteen. His head popped up like a cork."

Varrot sat silently, waiting for Marina to finish.

"...and I put a hole in it."

Varrot closed the sniper journal and placed the book on the table. "It says in there you've killed fourty-four imps in twelve days of combat." She told the young corporal. "How many bullets did you use in those twelve days?"

"Forty-five." Marina answered.

The captain smiled. "What went wrong with the one you missed?"

"Mopping up action on the outskirts of Vasel. I was laying behind the crest of a hill when I saw a party of two Imperial scouts approaching my direction. I took aim, but I guess I was tired. I didn't take into account the fact that I was shooting downhill. I didn't subtract one eighth of the distance from the total. I overshot. The two scouts beat a hasty retreat."

"And what did you do then?" the Captain asked.

"I realized my mistake and I left." Marina replied.

The Captain smiled again. "I've known many snipers who would have taken a second shot, but that's not the smart way. You revealed your position. You had to pull out. One or two scouts in exchange for a sniper isn't a good trade." She leaned forward, her eyes meeting those of Marina's. "Corporal Wulfstan, I have a job for you."

"She wants you to do what?" Catherine O'Hara asked, folding her most recent copy of "_The Writings on the Wall" _newspaper down the middle. Marina, Catherine, and Cezary were alone in the bunker.

"She wants me to start a sniper school." Marina repeated. Catherine grinned and playfully tossed "_The Writings on the Wall"_ at Marina's chest. Marina crumpled the paper into a ball and bounced it off her fellow sniper's head.

Catherine bent to pick up the ball. "Now, don't do this to my paper, lass. I read this." She said. "You may not think what's in here is important, but I do."

While Marina didn't normally care for human company, she found Catherine's peevishness to be somewhat reassuring. She watched her fellow sniper unfold the paper and smooth it out on the mattress. _"She almost looks like someone's mother doing her ironing." _Marina thought.

At thirty-five, Catherine was the oldest and most experienced of the Squad Seven Snipers. She had made it through the first Europan War. She was tall and skinny, with short dark-brown hair and bright blue eyes. Some of the younger snipers of Squad Seven almost looked up to her as sort of a maternal figure. Catherine was as good a Sniper as Marina, better in some respects. She was astonishingly silent on the move, clever and patient on the hunt. She could squeeze off two shots in five seconds, accurate to 450 meters. Marina needed six seconds. But give Marina enough time, and she could nail a headshot ten out of ten at 600 meters in the wind. That was a feat even Catherine could not match.

"I'm not sure about this." Marina said doubtfully. "Having me drag a bunch of inexperienced kids across the battlefield could compromise the squad."

"I think this could actually be a good thing." Cezary debated. "I mean, I don't want to sound like a sycophant but you ARE the best goddamn sniper in the Militia."

"Aye." Catherine agreed. "Back in the first war the young ones they sent to the sniper team were too inexperienced, too jumpy. Most of 'em lasted about a week before they were killed or wounded. Now, these kids we have today need someone good to show them how it's done."

"Think about for a second." Cezary clarified. "We put together a team to do exactly what Captain Varrot expects them to do. We'll train them to make every Imp in Gallia afraid for his life twenty-four hours a day, whether he's at the front line or deep in the rear. Make them scared to lift their head for one second for fear of it being blown off. We'll be Gallia's assassins. The Wolves will be everywhere."

_"The Wolves will be everywhere..." _Marina repeated that last sentence in her mind. She pulled her Sniper Journal out of her bag, thumbing through the pages. Closing her eyes, feeling the weight of the journal's contents. Fourty-four entries. Fourty-four _lives._

"_I'll be everywhere."_


	6. Chapter 5

The Hunt for the Wolf Chapter 5

By Aya-chan a.k.a. Yukionna42

Minutes after Major Heska's body had been carried to the rear, Nikki Holman was called to meet with her company's commanding officer, Captain Johann Kronnenburg. Kronnenburg was a small man, only a head taller than Nikki, but he had a powerful voice and a big presence. His brown hair was turning gray and he had a jagged scar running down the side of his face, the souvenir of a Gallian Officer's pistol in the First Europan War. He was an old man who had seen too much death for one lifetime.

"Private Holman, I understand you're the most experienced member in your scouting team?"

"Yes sir." Nikki replied.

"You've been in the front lines since Bruhl. You were awarded the Order of the Blue Lance for saving the life of an officer who had been wounded by rifle fire."

"Yes sir."

Kronnenburg paused, he reached into his backpack and pulled out something, concealed in his fist. "As you know Private Holman, Corporal Hofstetter of the 3rd Scout team was killed by sniper fire yesterday, and the 3rd needs a new team leader. That responsibility is now yours, Corporal Holman."

Grabbing Nikki's hand and using his fingers to open her palm, the captain placed a patch into her hand. Two bright yellow, triangular stripes. "There's no time for a ceremony now." The captain explained. "But when we finish this mission, you will sew those stripes onto your dress uniform, if you don't want to be sited for a dress code violation the next time we attend a formal occasion."

"Yes sir. I will. Thank you, sir." She replied. To be honest, she didn't feel glad about this promotion. The lives of a scouting team now rested on her. If one of them fell, it would be her fault. And sometimes, the Gallians could be so unpredictable, so dangerous. Could she really bring the whole team back home in one piece?

It wasn't long after she had been informed of her promotion that she was called into action alongside the rest of her team. Captain Kronnenburg split his 80-man company into patrols of five. He was leery of migrating snipers and machine guns that might cut into his troops and bog them down if they moved as one. He counted out the first five. Nikki was at the head.

"Corporal, you know your objectives?"

"No, sir."

"It's estimated that we're only facing two enemy squads, but they've been harassing us for days, sticking to the cliffs where the armor can't get them. That, Corporal Holman, is where we come in."

This offensive would set up the knockout punch, allowing Selvaria's army to drive the two Gallian Squads out of the Selvaria's army could continue their operations unhindered by Gallian interference.

"Get within twenty kilometers of the cliffs." the Captain ordered. "Find a secure spot for the company to assemble."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep your head down."

Nikki looked and the four men and women she had been assigned. All young, pale, grimy faces like her own. All interchangeable, she thought. Each one dispensable, like a throwaway rag. Nikki said a silent prayer to the Valkyrur that there would still be four when she next counted.

"Go only where I go." She told them. "Move only where I move."

Nikki bent at the waist and knees. Her black ZM Kar rifle hung in her hand almost to the ground. She stretched her neck like a tortoise and lifted her head. This position was torturous, but it made her as small of a target as she could be when running. Taking a deep breath, Nikki moved clear of the cover and into the open sands of Barious.

She ran in bursts, shadowing the contours of the buildings, dunes, ditches, and rubble. She chose each step carefully, knowing her every step had to be taken four more times. She never allowed herself to be in the open for more than ten meters. In that brief window of time, a sniper would have to be very good or very lucky to find a kill shot. If she ran into the sights of a Gallian machine gun, she might still have time scramble for cover behind something, anything. Nikki's biggest concern was her nerves. If she made a mistake, it might not just kill her but also the third or last soldier behind her.

Twice, rifle shots rang out. Nikki froze. The shots did not find her team and were not followed by more action. They were just random convulsions of combat in Barious, as if too much silence broke some unwritten rule. She caught her breath, then pressed on.

Nikki had the objective in sight for a long time. The gargantuan cliffs stood facing the open dunes. All around them were ruins, the scars of the Darcsen Calamity scattered over them like coal shoveled across a floor. At forty meters, Nikki sprinted across an open space and ran into a wide ditch not unlike a trench and waved for her team to gather beside her.

After a grueling five-hour, ten kilometer traverse across the desert, Nikki's reward was four sweaty faces, rolling their eyes as if to say "Corporal, don't ever make us do that again."

To their left were the shambles of several stone structures, gutted to pieces by the Darcsens thousand of years ago. The corner structure was the largest. It was a ghostly shadow of a two-story building. Maybe it had once been a church, judging by it's elongated structure. It's roof was missing, crumpled around it's base like a skirt that had been dropped. _"That building will make an excellent strong point._" Nikki thought. _"We can occupy both floors and control the approach from all sides."_

While her team waited in the Trench for the rest of the Company to arrive, Nikki let her mind wander. Although she didn't want to, Nikki thought of Major Heska's body.

Where was he now, almost six hours after being alive for his last moments? Was he being shipped home with a flag draped over his casket to be buried at the War Cemetery in the Capital with full honors like we've all been promised? Or did they just dump him into an unmarked mass grave in the Gallian sod with a hundred other corpses? Did his arms and legs fly akimbo when he landed on the pile of bodies? To stay that way for eternity? Sliding down the pile, going to judgement upside down?

_"I don't want to die like Heska. A bullet in the brain, fired from half a kilometer away. He was just drinking from a canteen. He wasn't even fighting. He never got the chance to die thrashing, swearing, and screaming to give his life some sort of send-off or a final moment of note. Drinking from a canteen, he didn't know he was marked in the crosshairs of a sniper. A sneaky bitch who branded the side of his head with a black cross and crawled away with no blood on her hands."_

_"I don't want to be buried in Gallia." _Nikki thought. _"I want to go home."_


	7. Chapter 6

The Hunt for the Wolf Chapter 6

By Aya-chan a.k.a. Yukionna42

The Fatherland Medium Tank growled around the corner, it's iron hatches shut tight. Cautiously, it proceeded down the street, swinging it's turret around with a metallic whine. The crew searched for the Gallians they knew were dug into the ruins ahead.

From behind, another Fatherland watches the presence of the lead tank, guarding it with a motionless cannon. Farther around the corner, out of view, an infantry unit waits to move behind the tank cover, clad in the tell-tale steel armor of the Empire.

Suddenly there's a flash, a trail of smoke, and an explosion on the first story behind the advancing tank. A Gallian hiding somewhere in the ruins has fired a 122mm anti-tank lance and missed his target. The lead tank slams into reverse and accelerates backward down the street, elevating it's turret to the flash caused by the lance's discharge. Further back, the guard tank fires an anti-personnel round into the ruins. The Imp Infantry leaps from cover and rushes towards the ruins to rake them with bullets and grenades.

It is then that the spotter of the second tank points his binoculars upward, as he has learned during the past ten days during battles on a dozen other streets like this. There, as if pre-ordained, he spots the bristles of sniper rifles. They only appear for a few fleeting seconds, like tiny black thorns protruding from the giant buildings. With distant, single pops, the wily Gallian Snipers pick off the Imperial Soldiers one by one.

It's a scene that General Selvaria Bles knows all too well.

Selvaria had come to learn in instances like these that these snipers had been lying in wait for hours, since before dawn in some occasions. Now, during the first week of the month of the operations in Barious, what her soldiers had taken to calling "the quiet days", they had all grown increasingly aware of the deadly presence of their enemy. With the Empire's armies faltering and the growing prevalence of smaller scale battles, these silent assassins of Gallia seemed to have crept into every crevice in the front line.

"Excuse me, are you General Bles?"

Selvaria was brought back to the present by this question. She was sitting at the table in her command tent, and at the entrance to the tent was an extremely cute young lady with light brown hair and big blue eyes. If she wasn't dressed in the Imperial Army's Black Officer's Dress Uniform, Selvaria would have thought she was a poster child for beauty products. Even in that uniform, she still looked like she belonged on a recruiting poster as opposed to the front lines of combat.

"Yes, I am Selvaria Bles. What do you need?"

The girl stiffened up and saluted. "Lieutenant Aileen Kessler, Instructor at the Imperial Sharpshooting Academy at Gumrak. You sent for me. Your message said it was urgent."

"Really now?" Selvaria asked. "You're Lieutenant Kessler? I wasn't expecting someone so...young."

"I served in your army at Ghirlandaio, Ma'am. I may not look like a soldier, but I'm no chump when it comes to sniping."

"So I've heard. They tell me you're the best. Please." Selvaria motioned to a seat at the table opposite from her. "Have a seat Lieutenant."

The young lieutenant did so, unslinging her rifle from her back and resting it against a wooden crate by the entrance of the tent, before coming to sit at the table. Selvaria hadn't taken notice of her rifle before, and upon examining it now, she discovered it was unlike any Imperial Sniper Rifle she had ever seen. It was certainly of the ZM SG family, but it seemed as though someone had made extensive modifications to it. It's barrel had been extended and modified to a length unusual for Imperial Rifles, and the weapon's action had been swapped out with a completely different model. In fact, the action was somewhat similar to that of the famous Gallian GSR, though not exactly alike, it had seemingly improved upon it. Aside from her own rare and expensive Ruhm General Purpose Machine Gun, Selvaria doubted she had ever seen such a finely tuned weapon in her life.

"That's a very interesting weapon." Selvaria pointed out. "Is it a new issue?"

"No." Kessler replied. "It's a bench-rest design."

"A bench-rest design?" Selvaria knew what the term meant. In the modern Imperial Economy, most small arms were mass-produced to arm as many soldiers as possible. The old gunsmiths had given way to giant factories where thousands of weapons were built everyday, and the Zeichmeister company, or "ZM" held a monopoly on the manufacturing of weapons for the Empire's Armies. However, these weapons could not legally be sold to civilians. Those in the Empire's borders who wished to legally acquire weapons turned to "bench-rest designers", gunsmiths who built weapons made to the user's specifications, with some legal limitations of course. Many in the Imperial Army, including Prince-General Maximillian, doubted the quality of these bench-rest designs when compared to the tried-and-true Zeichmeister Factory built-weapons. But looking at such a lovingly-crafted weapon, Selvaria was sure that was enough to dispel even the most fervent disbelievers.

"Who designed it?"

"Gustavo Tenenbaum. He's a very old friend of mine."

"I can't say I've heard of him."

"He does his work in his shed in the woods outside of Gumrak. The old man's crazy, but he's a genius."

"To what specifications did you place the order?"

"Well, the Empire has a good, reliable sniper rifle in the ZM SG Model A. I used one extensively in the battle for Ghirlandao. It's a weapon you can put your trust in and use for the mission at hand. But that's just about all it can do. It's short barrel is good for operating in tight quarters, but it isn't accurate beyond 700 meters. The ZM SG Model B is a bit better in terms of accuracy, but then there's the problem of the weapon's increased complexity. The adjustable counterweight in the Model B is probably the source of most Sniper Rifle failures in the Empire, no offense to Zeichmeister."

Kessler paused, probably to make sure she wasn't boring Selvaria. Selvaria's constant eye contact with her told her to continue.

"What I needed..." Kessler went on. "...was a weapon that was not only reliable and could be trusted not to fail, but also a weapon that was accurate beyond 700 meters. I went to see Tenenbaum, who as I said, is an old friend, and he wanted me to send him some blueprints not only of Imperial Military design, but of Atlantic Federation and Gallian Rifles too, so he could see their best aspects for himself."

"The former sounds unreasonable, the latter two impossible."

"Indeed. I told him not to get his hopes up. I used the Model A through Ghirlandao when one day, during a skirmish outside of Fouzen, I stumbled upon a Gallian-made sniper rifle. I think it was a model called a GSR-12, but I'm no expert on Gallian armament. I had never seen such a high-performance rifle in my life. I thought of using it myself, but that wouldn't have been logical. My only access to it's 7.92 ammunition was from "Battlefield Pickup." of Gallian weapons."

"But you remembered Tenenbaum." Selvaria speculated.

"Yep. I sent him the rifle, and he used it's specs to make that lovely weapon you see there. I call it the ZM SG Model T. T for Tenenbaum."

"Do the Gallians really have the capability to mass-produce weapons like that?" Selvaria asked, a little frightened by this prospect.

"I wouldn't know about mass-production. Most Gallian small-arms designs start as Bench-Rests themselves, but it was certainly their handiwork. The one I picked up at Fouzen belonged to a Gallian Sniper named Sergeant Isabel Meroni."

"How do you know that?"

"...She was holding it." There was a solemn pause, then Aileen Kessler sighed. "It's a funny thing. Shoot enough people and you eventually starting thinking of them as nothing more than a Brainstem, a Heart, a set of Lungs and a Diaphragm...until you read their dog-tags and learn their names...only them do you realize that it was another person...just like you."

An awkward moment of silence passed over the tent at that point in the conversation. Selvaria decided they had done enough talking, that she needed a point.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Kessler, but..."

"Hm?"

"I'm afraid we have some important matters to discuss. You see, things amongst the invasion force aren't the same as they were after our victory at Ghirlandao."

"Oh?"

"Yes. After some humiliating defeats such as Vasal and the woods of Kloden, the once euphoric moral of our soldiers has plummeted to...an alarmingly low margin. While our armies were unmatched by the Gallians in open warfare, by now the situation has quieted down into a series of close personal battles. Even here, in the open sands of Barious, the Gallians occupy the treacherous cliffs east of us. Intel suggests it may be no more than two squads of Militia, but they aren't stupid. They won't move from that high-ground. They're well aware that if they move into the open, our armored divisions will make short work of them. But on those same cliffs, our tanks are little more than sitting ducks. Some of my officers have been disobeying my orders. Having grown frustrated with the static pace of the battle, they're leading their men into forays on the cliffs. They may seize a good defensive position from which to set up further attacks, but once they consolidate their gains by digging in, they find themselves cut off from the rest of the army by the Gallian Counterattack that always follows. The wounded are often unreachable, the dead are left to stiffen up in horrific positions on the ground. The soldiers are losing the hope of personal survival. They'll continue to fight, but too often that will to fight is the result of looted alcohol or contraband amphetamines. They're all afraid of spending another year in Gallia."

Aileen Kessler was gaining a clear picture of how much had changed in the Army while she was teaching at Gumrak. Based on Selviaria's description, she depicted the brave Imperial Soldier as unshaven, weary from lack of rest, ridden with lice, and having lost all sense of the Empire's greater purpose in bleeding for this country. Now they fought, Aileen quoted the words of a Gallian reporter in her mind: "For the ultimate obsession: to get at one another's throats."

"It certainly sounds like our brave boys and girls have run into some serious problems." Aileen replied.

Selvaria nodded. "Indeed Lieutenant Kessler. While the soldiers' conditions and the low morale certainly need to be addressed, another major concern is the growing number of enemy snipers."

"Go on."

"The Gallian sharpshooters have adapted to the terrain of their home country better than our own snipers have. They are rapidly becoming one of Gallia's most effective weapons against us, being responsible for untold casulties, especially amongst the officer corp. A conservative estimate ranges from one-hundred to two-hundred dead across the country per day."

The young Lieutenant replied with a nod. "And I imagine it is certainly a contributing factor to the low morale of our soldiers." She knew this well, for she was a sniper herself. Casualties from snipers came in such a terrible way. From a distance, a single bullet from an unseen rifleman who crawled off and escaped detection. Snipers always deliver death as a sudden, bloody shock. She imagined that their own soldiers were beginning to believe there was no safe haven from Gallia's marksman. That any activity, even smoking or relieving themselves, could draw a sniper's attention. The thought of being hunted through a telescopic sight, of being marked unknowingly with an invisible black crosshairs and then selected for a bullet in the brain and instant death, was a chilling, ugly prospect. That was the sniper's ultimate weapon. Kill one, terrify a thousand.

"There is one sniper in Gallia's forces whom our soldiers fear more than any other. We know that they call her "The Wolf." Many on both sides believe her to be the best."

"I think I see where this is going." Kessler states matter-of-factly.

"She's done more damage than any other Gallian Sniper in any theater of the war. She has our men terrified. What I want, what I need you to do Lieutenant Kessler, is track down the The Wolf and neutralize her."

"Well, you've come to the right person." Kessler grinned. "I have a few questions though."

"By all means, ask."

"How much do you know about The Wolf?"

Selvaria sighed a deep, heavy sigh. "Nowhere near as much as I'd like to. All I can say with certainty is that she is a woman, and she serves with the infamous Squad Seven of Gallia's Militia. The only other thing I can tell you is the already obvious fact that she's incredibly dangerous."

"That's it?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You don't what her name is? Where she came from? Who she is? You don't know her modus operandi? How she fights, how she picks a target, the sorts of places where she's likely to hide?"

"I'm sorry."

"Well..." Aileen Kessler slumped backwards in her chair, her right arm draping over the back. "We need to learn those things. If I'm going to put a bullet in The Wolf's brain, I need to know as much about her as I possibly can. Also, I have a request to make, if that's alright."

"That depends on what it is."

"I don't want my presence here to be reported. To command, journalists, anybody. There's a chance that if you tell someone that a sniper of my caliber is here in Barious, it just might reach the ears of The Wolf. I want to give her a surprise."

Selvaria instantly understood the young lieutenant's point. She smiled to herself.

"Of course, Lieutenant Kessler."


	8. Chapter 7

The Hunt for the Wolf Chapter 7

By Aya-chan a.k.a. Yukionna42

"Excuse me, Corporal Wulfstan, may I come in?" Marina opened her eyes and checked her watch lying by her bedside, 3:00 PM. A hand pushed aside the blanket draped over her, followed by Cezary's voice. "Rise and shine Corporal. You've got a visitor."

Rubbing her eyes, Marina saw Cezary standing over and looking to the doorway of the bunker, she saw a fair-haired, spectacled woman. She was dressed as a civilian, a tweed cap on her head, and a camera hanging from her neck.

Marina arranged her senses and sat upright on her bunk, only to realize she was dressed only in an undershirt and shorts.

"I'm sorry Corporal, did I wake you?" The woman asked.

"No...It's fine. Please give me a moment."

"Of course."

Reaching below her bunk, Marina pulled out her knapsack, in which she began to search for her uniform. Marina kept very few personal effects, so it was not difficult to find.

"I'll step out for a bit." Cezary stated, as he withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and headed out towards the bunker door, the unlubricated hinge squeaked as he closed it behind him.

The civilian spoke as Marina was dressing herself. "You are Corporal Marina Wulfstan, 3rd Regiment, Squad Seven, Sniper Team?"

"What about it?"

"I'm Irene Ellet. I'm a news correspondent for GBS Radio. I've received permission from Lieutenant Welkin to speak with you." As Marina finished suiting up in her uniform, Irene offered her hand. Marina did not shake it, but simply stared at it.

Now that she had her senses about her, Marina had a chance to get a good look at the journalist who wanted to speak with her. She seemed to be about four years older than Marina herself. Her hat bore a plaid-pattern that was popular fashion in big cities like Randgriz, but to Marina it just looked silly. The same pattern also marked her socks, and Marina noted that Irene Ellet was wearing the first pair of shiny shoes she had seen in weeks.

"Lieutenant Welkin has told me a great deal about you, Corporal. You are to be the leader of the new sniper school. I believe the recruitment for your school will be helped if it's featured on GBS Radio."

"I wouldn't know." Marina replied. "I'm not a listener."

"Well, maybe you should tune in once in a while. We broadcast plenty of useful information. Hints, tips, announcements, political news, battle developments, even the theater schedule in Randgriz."

_"A lot of good that theater schedule is going to do me when I'm outnumbered and under fire." _Marina thought sarcastically. She did not say this out loud.

As if Irene had read Marina's mind, she chuckled and sheepishly said "Well, don't tell my boss I said this, I bet some of that would be pretty useless to our brave men and women fighting on the front-lines. That's why I have my own side publication, of which I am the sole writer, editor, and publisher. Have you read "The Writings on the Wall?"

"I'm familiar with the title, but I haven't read it."

"You don't pay much attention to current events, do you Corporal?"

Marina shrugged. "I don't have time to worry about all the news that's happening in the war, good or bad. I just focus on the mission at hand."

The reporter chuckled. "I guess some of our soldiers are like that." she laughed.

Marina had a question at the front of her mind, something she just had to get out in the open. An unusual feeling for her. "If I may ask." She began. "Why all the press coverage on me? All the other snipers of Squad Seven are working just as hard." She withheld the fact that she believed an interview published for all of Gallia to see would have unfortunate consequences. Snipers were supposed to be unknown and unseen, and not put on a pedestal.

"A fair question." Irene Ellet replied. "But I think you already know the answer." She paused, apparently waiting for some kind of acknowledgement from Marina. When there was none, she continued anyway.

"You've killed fourty-four Imps in less than two weeks time." The reporter began. "You've introduced new tactics and techniques that even just in Squad 7, have given our snipers a leg-up on their Imperial Counterparts. You have revolutionized the art of Sniping so much that now you're going to be the head of your own sniper school."

"I'll be frank, Corporal Wulfstan." The reporter continued. "I really don't care if you want to be made into a hero or not. However, it's very important that the rest of Gallia knows of the work you're doing out here. Those new tricks you've added to the bag could help a lot of our boys and girls stay alive. Even if they don't take anything away from it, everyone knows that not every Gallian soldier is some kind of superhuman. Hell, General Damon himself is proof of that." The reporter paused again, apparently looking for some kind of acknowledgement or approval from Marina. The Corporal's face remained placid. Once again, Irene Ellet continued anyway.

"The least we can do is let them know that there are superhumans fighting on their side. That's you, Corporal Marina Wulfstan of Squad Seven."

Marina still had her doubts, and was about to refuse the interview. That was until she got a good look at Irene Ellet's face. Or more specifically, the expression behind those spectacled eyes and the way her mouth curved sharply upward into a big smile. glowed with a passion for telling stories, true stories, of courage and valor. How could Marina refuse this woman, who had come all the way out here to the sticks, just to meet her. Although she still didn't understand, Marina replied with a silent nod.

"Fantastic!" Irene Ellet beamed with excitement as she withdrew her pen and notebook from her bag. "Now Corporal Wulfstan, you are originally from Kloden, correct?"

"Yes." Marina answered. "I am a hunter."


End file.
